The Monster Within
by ZelphorNirnrenan
Summary: Chapter 4 is ready! Luken is a member of the Companions who wakes up outside the city walls without remembering anything about the night before. He walks through the city and is forced to face the consequences of his past actions. Join him and others in their quest for redemption.
1. Luken

Luken rode his horse up all the way through the hill that the city of Whiterun rests on. Along the way, he saw death. Bodies on the ground, their skin bearing markings of a recent battle. But, as inhumane as it may seem, he did not care about the masked men whose cold fingers held swords. "They were trained to fight, and they failed", he muttered to himself in order to calm his nerves. What worried him was those inside the walls, the townsfolk.

The single guard who now held both his post and his dead comrade's opened the enormous door that leads into the city, without saying a word. His helm could not hide the sadness and confusion that troubled his mind; Luken simply nodded as if saying "thank you" and walked into the city.

Even right after walking inside the walls, Luken could see the destruction that happened last night. A faceless guard's body rested right besides Belethor's cold corpse. Both of them bore the same claw markings that covered the outside postmen.

Ulfberth War-Bear was working the forge that day. Fearing the worst, Luken walked up to him.

"Hey, I heard what happened. Is Adrianne alright?"

Ulfberth looked at the tall man in front of him him. He sighed, and then nodded with his head.

"Yeah, she's just a little... Upset about what happened last night."

"Can I talk to her?"

"I'm afraid not. She's at the temple of Kynareth. The priestess who walks around that tree on the middle of town is tending to her."

"Did she get wounded?"

"...She lost her arms. Both of them."

Luken was paralyzed. He looked to the ground, as if in mourning, and a minute of silence passed by, slow as the wind that carried it.

"Thank you. And, I'm sorry for what happened."

Ulfberth nodded again, and then went back to his duties. Luken kept walking up to town, his face becoming more and more saddened as he saw the guards piling up bodies. He heard a commotion on the Skyforge; there were people chanting the same things that were said when Kodlak died.

He began to walk up to Jorrvarskr. Heimskr's body was lying awkwardly next to the shrine of Talos. "He had it coming.", Luken muttered to himself again. He continued to walk, and he rose up the steps that led to the Skyforge. After reaching a certain distance from the mourning crowd, he could barely see who the Companions were about to cremate: Earlund Gray-mane.

"You should leave."

Luken turned left to identify whose voice was that, and he saw no one less than Aela. Her face was one of disgust, of anger. No more words exchanged, Luken began to go back the same way he went through, out of Whiterun and into the wilds.

It is night. A man approaches a small stone idol, craved on the earth and surrounded by animal pelts and meat.

"You are a monster.", the man says to the stone sculpture.

"I, am the monster, you say? Do not be foolish, Luken. We both know that the monster here... is you."


	2. Kharjo

Luken looked at the small sculpture, his face becoming one of shock. Hircine itself talked to him, referred to the Companion by name. That was something special.

But he didn't like it. Hircine becoming interested in a simple mortal, a man who resents the gift given to him but is too cowardly to give it back? That was madness, Luken thought.

"How do you know me, Daedra?"

The small statue went silent. Hircine was not answering anymore, and Luken both looked and felt ridiculous, talking to a little statue. "I am probably hallucinating", he thought. But the voice appeared in his mind once again to refute that thought.

"I have plans for you, mortal. If you do not obey me, I will have no choice but to command your body without your authorization, just like last time!"

"Why me?", Luken muttered.

"The anger that fuels your quest... I have not seen anything like it before. I have been observing you since the day those awful things happened."

"Oh, that's nice." Luken said condescendingly to the voice.

"Oh, but there is more!", the annoying voice in Luken's head yelled to call the werewolf's attention. "In fact, I have CAUSED some of those events. Don't be mad at me, the really bad ones were just the work of misfortune, I simply pulled some strings."

"Such as?"

Luken waited and waited for an answer that did not come. Hircine had stopped talking at the moment Luken showed some interest on what it was saying. For the Daedric Prince, it was just a game. And the werewolf knew he was no mere pawn; that worried him to no end. He thought about hiding in the mountains, living a life of solitude. But once again, his cowardness took over his compassion for the people. He knew some were to die, and he didn't worry about it. As long as he lived a good life.

Two centaurs were running around a forest. Both were carrying bows, as they fired wildly at the general direction of a running Khajiit. The creature was agile, but afraid nonetheless; the poor cat was hiding behind trees and such. One of the centaurs managed to get an arrow on the Khajiit's lower leg. The poor prey fell down to the ground and whimpers.

"The cats are always easier to hunt. They tire out too fast."

"Hey, maybe you should run on all fours, kitty cat! Makes it harder to hit, and easier for you to fall when we do!"

The Khajiit rested motionless on the ground. His breathing had stopped as soon as the arrow pierced his knee all the way to his feet; the centaurs managed to hit him from above. The two hunters then nodded at each other and galloped away into the darker woods; probably to hunt harder prey.

"You're not dead, Khajiit. Why are you playing dead?", said a voice inside Kharjo's mind.

"Gah! Get out of me! My day's been bad enough already!", said Kharjo as he rolled to his side.

"Oh, but that is where you're wrong, native of Eylsweir. Your day can get much worse... Except if you agree to help me."

Kharjo went silent as he removed the arrow from his leg with a whimper and started to cast a healing spell at it.

"Kharjo?"

"Can't you see I am concentrating here? Restoration magic requires focus."

"Oh, don't be a fool. That is a simple spell. I can feel the little of sparks of magick emanating from it... That is no Atronach you're casting, cat. We both know that your talents rest not into the power of your mind. Not even in your strenght. I've seen you running and hiding, cat."

"Cut to the chase, what do you want?"

"I want to test you. Then I want you to do something for me. But for now, all I want is just test you. I know about your past. About your particular set of skills."

"Oh, no. Have you seen me fleeing from those Centaurs? I'm no better killer than you are, Hircine."

"But that is where you're wrong again. Your skills have not vanished because of aging. A year here is a minute on Mundus. Let's say we always remove some of the knowledge and skill that our prey has..."

"You cheat, then."

"Don't call it cheating, cat! Call it... Natural selection. You're the prey, I am the hunter . It is natural that I am a better fighter than you are."

"Cut. To. The chase. And what in Oblivion would natural selection be?"

"Nevermind. What I want you to do is to enact revenge on those two centaurs. Use your claws; they're as sharp as the dagger you wielded in life, Listener. Your skills have returned to normal, all you have to do now is go there, and do what you did your whole life."

Kharjo reflected on Hircine's words. Is it trickery, or does the poor cat from Eylsweir actually amuse Hircine?

Kharjo had finally made his decision after ten minutes of thinking. In the mortal world, that would be less than a second, but on Hircine's hunting grounds, that was enough time to make a decision.


	3. Aspirant Leaders, Mourning Pupils

The elf clad in shining moonstone armor began to yell angrily at Tulius.

"That monster is tearing up our whole operation! Not only that, but there have been a lot of reports of YOUR scouts dying to it. The roads aren't safe anymore, nobody is safe! Why won't you do something?"

"Calm down, it is a single creature. It cannot be everywhere at once, neither can it kill everything that crosses its path. Also, most of the reports are from Whiterun. The Jarl refuses to accept help from the Legion, so we cannot take action."

"Then I will launch an armed campaign to KILL anything that howls or even barks on Whiterun!"

"I am afraid that this will not be possible, Zelphor..." said the other high elf that walked around the room, carefully listening to the discussion before finally opening her mouth.

"This werewolf is not our problem. Let the Jarl of Whiterun deal with it."

"It wiped out two Thalmor garrisons! We lost two forts to this "single creature"! No matter how many there are of this thing, it is dangerous! Worse than the dragons, worse than the Stormcloaks! We have to take action!"

"Zelphor... Control yourself! Go get some rest, me and Tulius need to talk."

"As you wish, madam.", said Zelphor as he hastily opened the door and got out of the room. As soon as he was away from ear and eyeshot of the two Generals, he began to yell again.

"Damn Elenwen and Tulius... They don't know what I know. They didn't see what I saw." said the elf as he went to his quarters inside the Thalmor Embassy.

Luken slept inside Halted Stream camp that night. All he could do was lay there, motionless, while having disturbing nightmares. People being hunted down and murdered by something or someone that shared its eyes with him; a cat running around a forest while dodging arrows; an entire garrison of Thalmor soldiers being wiped out.

"Wake up, Luken"

Hircine had talked to him again, and Luken thought that if he didn't open his eyes, it would just stop trying. But it did not.

"Do not be foolish, Luken. A killer does not sleep that well."

"I am not a killer."

"Maybe you are, maybe you aren't. Is a corrupt guard as much responsible as the Dark Brotherhood assassin? Is the silent witness just as crooked as the thief?"

Luken went silent. Hircine laughed again inside the werewolf's mind.

"It's been three days since we last spoke. How are you feeling?"

"I am tired. Of you, of this curse, of this life."

"Then why don't you knock me out of your path? Oh, sorry, you don't want to! Even knowing the how-to, you still refuse to give up the gift of immortality, of tremendous strenght. For selfish reasons, for revenge. And then you sleep, you try to act human. We both know you don't need to; you just do it to feel like you're still as human as the next man. But face it: you are not."

"Silence!"

Hircine stopped talking. Not out of obedience to Luken, but out of satisfaction. He knew he had troubled the werewolf's mind enough for a single day. The next one, he would continue.

Luken took a piece of iron from the ground. He began to transmute it; it was the only spell he knew how to cast. The black matter then began to gray itself up; and as soon as it did, it began to turn golden. In older days, Luken would do this for income. After Kodlak's death, he couldn't just go around the world adventuring. He needed to be there for his pupils, for his allies. To advise and train; and so, during his spare time, Luken smithed.

Earlund prepared some steel plates as Luken finished shaping the small golden ring.

"Not bad. But you should start crafting something more manly."

"Shut up, old man.", said Luken. "I'm going to deliver these to your wife, can you take care of the forge for a bit?"

"Are you kidding me, boy? I've been taking care of this forge since before you were born."

Luken woke up again. He fell asleep as soon as Hircine stopped talking. The werewolf then began to pack up his things, leaving the gold rings for the earth to take, and walked out of Halted Stream. His head felt heavy and he blacked out again.

The sun was setting and Luken finally came back to the Skyforge.

"What took you so long? It is almost night."

"Sorry, some recruits were brawling on Jorrvarsk."

"They never learn, eh?"

"So, what are you crafting? By now, you should already be packing up your gear and going home."

"What I'm crafting, boy, is the best armor I've ever made. Ever seen people wearing Steel Plate?"

"Yeah, that tough woman on the Inn usually walks around wearing it."

"Ever seen Skyforge Steel Plate?"

"...No, but that would be a good idea."

"Damn right it would."

Luken woke up again. He knew what he needed to get in order to defeat Hircine. Mounting his horse, Luken was ready to make his last trip to Whiterun.


	4. The Puppet

"I need to go to the Skyforge."

"I told you to go away last time, Luken. You are a menace to everyone around you. The Companions will not hesitate to hunt you down; Kodlak was right, someone would lose control of the gift, sooner or later."

"You don't understand... "

"Yes, I don't. I don't understand why you stopped turning. I don't understand how you turned into a coward overnight. You took the sword, and instead of using it to kill anything that stands into honor's way, you left it there to rot and so it did. You let the gift rot until it felt like it was time to take over. And even though Kodlak refused to use it too, at least he knew how to control the bloodlust. You didn't."

Luken went silent and walked towards the stairs, pushing Aela lightly. The woman then turned her head to him, drawing her dagger in the split of a second, putting it uncomfortably close to Luken's neck.

"The Skyforge is closed."

The werewolf turned back. He knew the hate Aela felt for him. Not only for the day Earlund died, but through the whole time spent with her. He knew that if he only had stopped following Kodlak's advice when Aela invited Luken for her little campaign no the Silver Hand and he refused, she would not be pointing a dagger towards him. He knew that if he only had honored Kodlak's last wish, she would not be speaking so angrily. And he knew that if he had been a better leader, she would not be THAT ready to kill him. But she was. And Luken's body, following it's basic instincts, simply turned. Luken had turned, right next to Aela.

The young Thalmor officer rode on horseback towards Whiterun, while a whole company of soldiers followed tiringly behind. He could hear the roars of the werewolf; in fact, he could hear them even before the confirmation was given. They had the enemy locked inside Whiterun, even without the Jarl's permission.

Two Thalmor soldiers casted an Alteration spell similar to Stoneflesh on the door. The only guard that still held his post was laying there, dead as the night, his body charred up like if a dragon had swallowed him and then spit the guard out.

"I am going in. Gondow, Famenk, you're coming with me."

"As you wish, sire."

The three Thalmor officers walked through the ruins of Whiterun. The roars had stopped as soon as the elves walked inside the walls. One of them, a wood elf, could still sniff the indistinguishable wet dog smell that all werewolves had on them. He led the group, with Zelphor in the middle, and the soldier in a heavy moonstone plate armor walking behind them.

Dead bodies littered the streets. Those who did not die in the last massacre, surely did on this one. Famenk led the group towards the doors of Dragonsreach, the castle that the Jarl of Whiterun lived in.

"This is it. The smell stops he-"

As soon as he was done talking, a shadow appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him, throwing the elf outside of the walls. Zelphor and Gondow unsheathed their swords. A bloody battle was to come. Silently behind them, someone moved. It was not the werewolf; it was something far worse.


End file.
